


Her Alpha

by Anonymous



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alpha Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alpha Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Breeding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Knotting, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Omega Nathalie Sancour, Polyamorous Pack, Post-Hawk Moth Defeat, Pregnant Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Pregnant Sex, Tender Sex, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: With Hawkmoth imprisoned, Nathalie Sancour ispackless, an Omega without family or even a safety net.Good thing that Adrien knows a thing or two about not having a family, and just how precious it is to be welcomed into one.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur, Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29
Collections: Anonymous





	Her Alpha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mobilia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mobilia/gifts).



> Mobilia's Nathalie/Adrien story convinced me to repost this one, with some modifications. 
> 
> I hope that, if you read this story, you don't mind that I've sent it as a "gift" to you. If you'd like me to remove it as "a gift," please let me know.

Gabriel has lost.

As Ladybug and her partners, Ryuuko, Chat Noir, and Viperion rend the Butterfly miraculous from her Alpha's tattered lapel, Nathalie realizes that, in reality, he had lost long ago.

The quivering hunk of gaunt flesh and shattered spirit, bereft of anything human, kneels in his broken and blasted sanctuary, staring at the frosting glass of the monument that he built for his dead wife.

There is nothing left for him, and so, nothing left for her.

Nathalie slumps against the railing that leads to the tomb of the woman her Alpha loved, hand to the swelling bruise on her jaw. She retches at the sight of him, crying and begging, babbling like a- a child and pleading for forgiveness that neither she nor Emile can ever offer.

Her vision swims and bleeds black, eyelids fluttering as she loses the fight against what she assumes in the dwindling rational part of her mind must be a concussion, the result of a well-timed stroke from Chat Noir's baton. An awakened Alpha in his own right, he had surprised her with a burst of feral strength.

The next conscious thought as she wakes, handcuffed to a hospital bed, is pain and need – a hunger to see her Alpha because she has to tell him that he still has her, and that he was always the only thing she wanted. Ladybug's miraculous cure has dispelled the purplish-black bloom, splashed across her face like an ink-blot, but it only ever heals injuries.

It can't take away all the scar-tissue.

There are trials and inquests, nearly destroying _Gabriel_ , and they are accompanied by dismissals both popular and official that deny she had anything to do with ... with her Alpha's plans. Even if she had assisted her Alpha in tormenting Paris for years on end, preying on every stray fear and outrage, she was _just_ an omega, and could hardly be faulted for that.

It is so repugnant a defense on her lawyers' part that frustrated tears break her stoic composure in court, eyes pinching and red, though she remains a placid wall of ice save for the one weakness she cannot restrain. It is easily spun into yet more evidence of her emotional fragility – impotence that sways a jury, not of her peers, but of Betas and one Alpha who is clearly bored with the entire affair and just wants it to end.

Still, the judge determines that she cannot be left on her own.

Though there should be nothing left beyond white hot hate, _he_ takes her by the hand and guides her ... home. Lets her stay in the mansion that, inch by inch, becomes _his_ as he and his mates scent-mark it with sweet flowers, cinnamon-gunpowder, bread and exotic spices, and what could only be described as the smell of sunshine.

But there's nothing left for her now, and she burns.

The scent of vanilla is gone.

Hidden from the world, nose to her Alpha's pillow and surrounded in the remnants of his clothes, Nathalie realizes it.

She brings one shirt after another to her nose, clawing and tearing, trying to find the fullness of him but it's gone. Only cinnamon remains, all the softer notes having decayed away so that there is only spice, and she cannot tell if it's him or just Kagami's musk that's everywhere, especially now that Luka is pregnant. Is she just deceiving herself, thinking that she can still detect her Alpha's presence?

He finds her weeping over the pile of torn clothes. It's not her that's crying; it's someone she could have been, and someone she is when the heat overtakes her and she is lost to her Alpha again, even when he's already gone.

A gentle hand eases her away from the shirt before he lifts her up into his arms to cart her to his bedroom, her face to his throat, glands scenting her without either of them trying. Arms curl around his neck. Her Alpha was all smooth planes and rigid structure, steel and bony protrusions that battered her when she tried to cling to him too tightly. Now, the chest against her cheek is hot muscle that scorches deep, scalding her reddening face, breasts, stomach, and womanhood; body and instinct betray her as she betrays her Alpha and she hates all three.

She hates him and Gabriel more than anything.

He gives her the shirt, but it was pressed against his body for too long as he carried her. Every piece of Gabriel's scent is gone, wiped away with the smell of a summer breeze, but she's still holding onto it, and clutches the shirt to her chest even as she cries herself to sleep with him sitting there, by her side, singing for her – Marinette's songs and Emilie's.

In the coming days, she expects it to hurt. It always hurts. Battery acid runs through her veins and leaves her hot while she nests, stealing her fellow Omega's fabrics piece by piece. A frantic animal acting on instinct alone, she knows that she should be punished for taking an Alpha's precious gifts to his chosen Omega, scruffed and chastised, or used and discarded, or worse than anything ignored – threatened with expulsion.

 _Packless_.

But she is not.

Instead, her fellow Omega finds her, trying to hide her nest as she always did. It's like standing in a gentle summer rain that cuts the heat of the day, somehow leaving her without the muggy, sticky feeling as Marinette, waddling she's so heavily pregnant, kisses her and begins to slip her free from her clothing, unbuttoning her blouse and plucking off her glasses and skirt.

The much younger woman's mouth is on hers, coaxing with gentle lips, a flutter of butterfly wings that for once do not burn, and every step of the way Marinette amplifies the intensity, always probing and guiding until Nathalie is clutching at her, panting into the girl's mouth and whining and humping the air, grinding without relief against the hand that has slipped between her legs.

Gabriel never kissed her. Only forced her face-down, mounted her and took what he needed while Emile's name poured from him lips, a prayer, apology, and curse woven into a single-word liturgical chant as he worshipped the dead woman.

She hated herself for loving it.

Consumed by a dozen flames, she would accept anything that she could get, though he never... took her as a woman. That was for the real Emilie. It dragged out her heat until it was eternal hellfire instead of burning at the stake. He used her, but would never leave her fulfilled.   
  
Splayed open. 

Debased, his precious seed trailing from her hiked-up ass as she drooled and whined and cried for relief and and something that she didn't deserve, grinding into the floor while he fixed his suit and dismissed her. 

_Disgusting. Go clean yourself._

She's crying. 

Marinette is kissing her neck; whispers in her ear spur her forward but there is no force, even as she eases his cock into her mouth and tries to take him down to the knot that throbs and sears her lips, salt, musk, _sunshine_ , and something like peppermint flooding her sinuses.

She expects pain, but his strong fingers stroke through her hair so gently, and he calls her a _good Omega_.

She cums around Marinette's slow-thrusting fingers, the younger woman's rounded belly hot and hard against the small of her back, fitting into the curve.

She's _crying_. 

The dam gives way when he mounts Marinette and Nathalie cries with need, watching that thick member gracing her – _his_ Omega, knot throbbing and straining at its base, slicking with Marinette's juices, prodding against her lower lips as he rocks into the Chinese woman with slow gyrations of his hips. His thick hands are so gentle, clinging to her waist. He surprises them both with rare brutal thrusts that nearly leave the two of them knotted.

Breaking like the crackling surface of a half-frozen pond, Marinette _begs_ – begs to be bred like the Omega slut that she is. Always so gentle even when ruining the once-proud woman, he slams her back all the way, wet, squelching slaps echoing.

She's stretching, lips kissing and drooling around his knot, just on the edge. 

Marinette's face is flushed an inviting shade of red as she bites down on her lip, watching Nathalie. Taunting. 

_This could be you._

No. _Offering_. 

And Nathalie cannot resist crawling over on her hands and knees, juices trailing her thighs, to kiss her.

She's crying. 

Fingering herself desperately, Nathalie cums at the sight of the pair of them knotting, Adrien's blood-red cock quivering and disappearing with a _tie_. The whining, bred Omega bitch convulses, sweaty body slumping as he floods her - graces her – holding her up and cradling her massive stomach.

Their children.

She-

She wants children. God how she wants them.

Marinette holds her, teases her breasts and stomach until she's nearly ready to scream while he works away, fingering her “pretty pussy.”

She nearly flags her rear in frustration. _She_ wants to be a good Omega for them, and is shocked by the strength of the desire.

A good Omega pleases their Alpha, is properly bred.

There is no end to it, though. She cums so many times, crying into Marinette's belly while trying to pleasure the younger woman with her mouth. When Marinette finally releases, it's slightly metallic, pH thrown off by pregnancy, but so sweet as all three of them say it over and over again:

_Good Omega._

She's saying it because they're wiping away years and years of knowing she wasn't. She says it to try to believe it.

When she falls from her high, they turn her around so that she can worship him, suckling and milking his cock while Marinette lavishes her body with kisses, waiting for another turn patiently because, pregnant, she cannot burn with heat.

Finally, as he finishes inside of her mouth, watery release spilling out around the the shaft until he jerks free and Nathalie tries to drink it all and lap it up off the floor because she's lost, adrift, sinking and floating, held up and being dragged down and all she can think is that she can't waste a gift from her alpha – that she has to be good and needs it, she knows she's ready.

She begs.

Adrien _knots_ her.

It floods and fills and is so perfectly warm that she cums again, rolling through an unending orgasm as she licks Marinette clean, tongue to her pussy, scooping out the tiny remnants of Adrien's cum that even now her heat-madness lets her _taste_.

Being splayed open to take his knot doesn't hurt. Even half-conscious, sweat-soaked and so thoroughly well-fucked that she can't really move or think, she's still humping her hips against him, rolling her ass, trying to draw out more, heeding an instinct that makes her wanton and desperate.

Her Alpha has _seeded_ her.

Her sweet young Adrien has – has...

Done what _he_ never would.

Done a thousand things, great and small, all meaningful, that _he_ never would.

Days later, when the heat abates and she's lucid again, satisfied and full and uplifted in ways he never could have imagined, she returns to work. He glasses are firmly in place, her suit pressed and prim, her every action and inflection cool and mechanically-precise. To every intern she lambastes or lackadaisical supplier she cautions, avoiding any form of actionable threat while leaving implications to hang heavily between them, she is still Nathalie Sancour.

But she isn't any more. Not really.

Hands to her stomach and mating-mark tingling rapturously, she sighs and melts in her office chair, giving herself a moment to savor the feeling of her heartbeat, pulse thrumming through her throat, so loud that she can hear it reverberating inside of her head.

She's crying. 

Just a little. 

What nature and Gabriel Agreste had never been able to supply, her Alpha offered freely.

A heart.

Gabriel is gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments about things that you enjoyed, or accusations of being a filthy degenerate, would be much appreciated! 
> 
> Take care.


End file.
